Hot & Humid

I haven't checked with the weather people, but my inner humidity gauge tells me this week tops the charts. I walked back to work after lunch one day this week and my shirt became completely soaked with sweat. I came home yesterday and watered plants, weeded, and bundled some branches I had chopped down over the weekend. By the time I went inside, I looked like I had been walking in a rainstorm, except my cheeks were as red as beets.

Tonight after work, I dragged to the curb the many bundles of branches I have ready for the yard waste truck. I got smart this time, however. I put on my bathing suit before I started this task. When I finished, soaked through, I jumped into the cold water of the pool. I dunked my head repeatedly.

I love to come home from work in the summer—where I have to keep a fan blowing on me to stay cool—do some chores and then JUMP into the cold pool water. We have an ancient concrete pool. It has no fancy heating system - so even in the hottest months, the water stays cold.

Our black Lab puppy, Banjo, goes nuts over water. If I drag a hose out to water plants, he has to jump in it and press his face against the powerful stream of water. Every time he goes out the door in summer, he runs to the pool and begs to be let in.

So, when I come home from work, having left poor Banjo alone all afternoon, I can't just jump in and leave him to whine outside the fence. Of course I let him in. And of course he has to be by my side every minute, with his flailing sharp claws.

This evening, the humidity and heat want to converge into a thunderstorm. In the distance, I hear thunder and overhead I see grey clouds. But to the west, I find a glorious sunset emerging. With all these conflicting impulses, a wonderful orange light has spread across the lawn and reflected off the yellow brown-eyed susans outside my window.

When you think about, Illinois, with all its glorious weather changes, is an awesome place to live.

Where's the flood?

I remember in junior high if a person wore pants that didn't drag the pavement, they would inevitably be asked "Where's the flood, man?"

Several years ago, I used to always wear dresses, skirt, hose, and nice shoes to work.

Until that fateful May afternoon when our basement cubicles flooded. After spending an hour picking up computer towers off the floor, unplugging equipment, and emptying bottom drawers, I realized that my skirt and shoes were soaked through with flood water, some of which had come up through the bathroom stools.

When I got home, I carried the skirt and the shoes to the garbage and slipped into pajamas.

Since then, I figure this could happen again at any time, so be prepared. Computer towers must sit on desktops and beautiful long skirts are not appropriate basement attire.

It happened again late this afternoon. Central Illinois received a torrential rainstorm. Water poured in through the doors, walls, and the toilets of our basement. The A/C shut down. We sweated as we cleared the floor of electrical cords and papers.

So, when you see me in my straight-legged, short pants and you ask me "where's the flood." I'll say, "It's coming any time, man, and I want to be ready."

Kiss of the Overworked Woman

A recent study suggests that working long hours takes a harder toll on women than on men.

As a woman who has worked a fair share of overtime, I can say with conviction that doing this does nothing for one's physical or mental well being. It does, however, get the work done so you can keep your head above water and not become overwhelmed by piles of projects and dayminders of missed deadlines.

The British study, performed by Daryl O'Connor, PhD, a senior lecturer in health psychology at England's University of Leeds, and colleagues, found that several negative health patterns stood out for women who worked long hours:

More high-fat and high-sugar snacks
More caffeine consumption
More smoking
Less exercise

For me, I can only say, check, check, n/a, and check.

I don't smoke, but I do consume caffeine and in greater amounts when I am at work as opposed to when I am at home. Likewise, when I am in my cubicle facing the computer, I am much more likely to stuff chocolate candy into my face than when I am not so confined.

Case in point: I like the smooth chocolate used to make Hershey's Kisses, so if I buy candy for home or the office, I prefer to select these confections. So, I buy a nice assortment of pastel Easter kisses and put them in a pretty candy dish at home. My nephews come and eat some. I sample them, but, with no children in the house, the dish serves more for decoration than consumption. I buy a bag of these sweets for my drawer at work, however, and they don't stand a chance. I am trying to design a cover - or write a pithy paragraph and I am unwrapping those kisses and shoving them in my mouth a "who laid the rail."

I can't explain it except when I am confined to my cubicle and by a deadline I don't have many outlets for nervous energy. At home, I could go outside and pull weeds or brush the dogs. In cubicle, I just eat candy.

idle conversation

Stopping to chat with coworkers can prove rewarding.

Today I ran into Cara in the hallway. She noticed that I had some sun on my face so asked about my weekend. I shared my enthusiasm about the new plants I put in - a hydrangea and phlox. I had fun tilling the spot for them, putting down hardwood mulch that smells wonderfully like a horse stable, and keeping the young plants watered.

She held out her hands, which were stained reddish-purple. She shared vivid images of making mulberry jelly. This endeavor made me think back to the July afternoons when I helped my mom make grape or berry jams and jellies in a steamy kitchen. We never attempted mulberry, although we had a large tree in the alley behind our house. I think the proximity of our neighbor's chicken coop - and the flies it attracted - discouraged us. Cara told of reaching way up into the branches of her very tall trees to select the fruit. Her hands became stained by squeezing the berries through a bag to separate the pulp from the many seeds.

Another time I was glad I stopped in the office down the hall to say hello. Another coworker had made a rhubarb crisp and when I stopped in late in the afternoon a one-inch square piece remained of the huge pan. "Oh please eat it," everyone begged. "We are stuffed and want to clean the pan." I was thinking to myself rhubarb - uh . . . . But I politely put the treat on a plate and dug in. It was wonderful! All those years my mother had made rhubarb pie and I never would even taste it. With this crisp, I couldn't believe how much sugar seemed to have been added and the rhubarbd was still extremely tart. An interesting mix of flavors!

No matter how busy you may be, life is too short not to take a few minutes from your workday and find out what is going on with those you share cubicle space with.

take a walk

Whether, like me, you work in a university or strive in the private sector, we all encounter people who frustrate us.

In all my dealings with coworkers, I try to be helpful, pleasant, and cooperative. I feel that we all should be working towards the same goal. To make Bradley University the best institution of higher learning that it possibly can be.

Sometimes, however, my thoughts about how to achieve that goal clash with the thoughts of coworkers.

This saddens me. At these times I usually have to take a walk around campus.

I look at the historic buildings, the enthusiastic, diverse student body, the beautiful gardens, and I gain perspective. I let the larger picture of the university subsume the petty differences.

Then, I often walk beyond campus over to the shopping center and indulge in a Starbuck's beverage.

A nice latte can definitely calm the mind and allow you to overcome the frustration and get back to work.

Last look

In October 2004, my sister found two fur-ball kittens abandoned near her home in Chicago. Her landlord, who lived in the flat below, had a no-tolerance policy towards animals - and a tendency to enter the apartment whenever she felt like it. These were just about the cutest kittens my sister had ever seen and they seemed exceptionally bright and affectionate, so she hated to just drop them off at the shelter. She called and asked if she could bring them down. "They are so adorable," she said. "If you can't keep them, I know you'll find homes for them immediately."

The next Monday, I had the above picture as my computer's wallpaper - I knew someone would see them and fall in love. It was probably that afternoon that my coworker Andy came by and saw the photo. He had been thinking about getting his family a pet. I told him that cats really do better if adopted in pairs - they can terrorize each other rather than the humans around them. He loved the look of the black cat - and just didn't know if two was a good idea. Well, I said, the grey one has had diarrhea, so I needed to take her in to the vet anyway.

His family loved the kitten…and Andy's daily reports told of him eating lots, growing at an alarming rate, using his litter box right off the bat, and being one happy cat.

At first the vets thought Sophie was smaller than her brother just because of the gender difference - and that the diarrhea may have been caused by the kitten formula I put on her food to soften it. When I brought her in for her first shots, however, I explained that she still had diarrhea and didn't like using her litter box. Sometimes she would just sit hunched up and cry if I picked her up. This was Thanksgiving weekend and all of my family was at my house. That Friday, the vet called to say Sophie's x-rays showed some abnormalities in the intestines. The enthusiastic young vet who had just joined the clinic said he could open her up and take a look.

To explain my agreement with this plan, I have to say that I had already fallen in love with "Soph the Moph." She loved to be held - she never scratched - she had beautiful eyes that would look into mine intently. She found the dogs interesting. "Or, we could euthanize her," the vet said.

"No, let's see if we can help her," I told him.

It turned out she had a deformed intestinal tract. The vet called me from surgery and said he could try to cut out the deformed areas and stitch her back together. Intestinal surgery in cats, he warned, is often unsuccessful.

I got my whole family to think positive thoughts for Sophie's recovery. And, much to all the vets' surprise, she recovered beautifully. Well, maybe "beautifully" is too strong. She thrived. She ate well and she started to gain weight. She had very soft stools, however, and never did master the litter box. I can't count the number of times I would come home at lunch and find her hunched up, looking uncomfortable. The clinic showed me how to give her antinflammatory injections. We did find a miracle food for her. If I gave her a tablespoon of pumpkin every day, she kept fairly "regular."

One day this spring, I realized that I hadn't had to take Sophie in or give her a shot in several months. She seemed to have outgrown her problems. She loved being outside in the yard. She was a fearless mouser, always dumping her prey on the back porch for my approval. She remained the sweetest kitten ever - she loved to cuddle or have me hold her near my face and talk to her. I found her personality so charming that she could just make me smile by walking in the room.

A couple weeks ago, I noticed that she was limping. Then, she developed horrible blackish-brown diarrhea. Once the vet clinic hooked her up to fluids, she perked right up, ate, and her leg felt better. When I brought her home, she wouldn't eat and her limp got worse. She lost weight dramatically and wouldn't eat anything but a little chicken broth. She became skin and bones and only wanted to lie under the bed.

Monday was one of the most horrible mornings of my life. I had been stung by wasps the day before and was having an allergy attack. I got up throughout the night to check on Sophie.

I called the vet clinic first thing Monday morning and told them I thought she needed to be euthanized. I thought when I took her in they would disagree with my assessment. Instead, the vet said "I think it is time."

I held my Sophie through the procedure, with tears streaming down my face. Our eyes were locked on each other's - until hers gave up.

Andy stopped by my office this afternoon and I shared with him again the photos of the kittens. He told me that Sophie's brother was now 17 pounds! I hope he lives a good, happy, long life and brings his family as much joy as Sophie brought me.

Cubicle in a Bucket

Hiring a temporary employee?
Cubicle overtaken by ants?

If you need a temporary cubicle solution, the brilliant minds at inflatedesign have developed what they call OIAB - or Office in a Bucket.

It looks weird at first, but I gave it some thought and realized some advantages: Sound isn't going to carry in or out very well in an office the consistency of marshmallows. You wouldn't have to listen to everyone else's water cooler conversations. Since the cubes are soft, you could squish lots of them together if you have limited floorspace. If you are a bit of a klutz, like me, you wouldn't have to worry about tripping over you chair and slamming into a metal cubicle brace. You'd just bounce back. It looks waterproof, so if you run out of space, you could start lining these puffs up on the parking lot.

Big drawback: no thumbtacks on the walls.

For more photos go to http://www.inflate.co.uk/oiab/.